You And Me of the 10,000 Wars
by BinaryTales
Summary: Immortality:Hohenheim's curse-and Greed's obession. Echoes of war haunt Mustang's dreams on Earth, while Ed and Al can no longer hide their agelessness. Greed can open the Gate to Amestris-for a heavy price. What must Ed sacrifice for family & his lover?
1. Chapter 1

Immortality:Hohenheim's curse-and Greed's obession. Echoes of war haunt Mustang's dreams on Earth, while Ed and Al can no longer hide their agelessness. Greed can open the Gate to Amestris-for a heavy price. What must Ed sacrifice for family & his lover?

You And Me

Of The

Ten Thousand Wars:

Being a Tale of the Curious History of the Elric Family on Earth--And A Companion Tale of "Beggar's Banquet" "Fifty Trips Around The Sun" and "Three Decembers And A January"

PROLOGUE: "If You Meet The Alchemist On The Road, Kill Him!"

If it hadn't been for the spattered trail of blood over the snow, Roy would have hiked right past the body. A flick of his Maglight revealed a dark stain, a shrimp-sized depression in the drift and a stubborn twig of golden hair poking up out of the whiteness.

Lobsang, his Sherpa guide, hunkered down to examine the still form. "Your wife is still breathing," he observed calmly, as if tracking down gunshot victims was a daily occurrence. "Shot in the backside"  
"Husband," Mustang corrected, as he prodded the body with his walking stick. "I'm guessing I won't get to top tonight. Right, Ed?"

There was a low growl of annoyance from deep within the snow bank. A frost-rimmed metal hand jerked upwards, middle finger extended.

"_F**k you, Mustang. Choke on it!"_

Lobsang Dondup had had worse jobs shepherding idiot tourists through the Himalayas. At the moment, he couldn't recall any of them. He stared at the flickering shadows on the side of the tent and clicked his prayer beads frantically, offering prayers to the holy _Padmasambhava_ in hopes that he would gain _some_ measure of spiritual merit from having to watch this perverse shadow play. Worse, his English was just good enough that he was privy to the accompanying rude commentary…

_"Deeper, damn you!"_

_ "Ed…any deeper and it's really going to hurt."_

_ "Like I give a shit? Don't stop!"_

_ "Edward—I'm already up to the hilt. You're bleeding all over the bedding."_

_ "Keep poking. You'll hit something eventually."_

_"Om namo bhagawate Bhaishjaye guru vaidurya.."_ Lobsang began to drone loudly, chucking another pat of dried yak dung on the fire and putting on the kettle for some hot barley tea and _tsampa_. "Compassionate One, I seek liberation….preferably _now_, from those two idiots in the tent molesting one another…"

_Plink!_ "That's the last of them, far as I can see." Roy Mustang examined to contents of the tin plate with satisfaction. "And it wasn't buckshot. It was rock salt. I don't think buckshot would have hurt half as much."

Edward Elric eased himself up on his elbows and hissed with discomfort. "Gimme the goddamned brandy."

Mustang nodded and passed him the flask. "Drink up. I've got to get this cleaned out." He held up the first aid kit and frowned. "Those alcohol wipes aren't goin to cut it. I need to flush the wounds—on second thought, give it back. Brandy will do in a pinch. I can't risk you getting infected out here."

"Nothing doing," Ed barked back. "You don't have any lidocaine. You got the chunks out, but it burns like a motherfucker." Ed peered over his shoulder at his leather pants, draped over a back pack, its seat ventilated by dozens of holes and stiff with blood. "I wanna get a good night's sleep—'cause when the sun comes up, I'm goin' back up the mountain, I'm going to wrap my hands around Ling's scrawny little neck and I'm gonna shove about ten inches of Winry Rockbell's mechanical artistry right up that bastard's sigmoid colon!" He shoved the engraved silver flask under his chest before dropping his head over is folded hands, looking uncannily like a shaggy haired puppy unwilling to part with its prized soggy tennis ball.

"All right, damn it," Roy muttered, "I'll use something other than brandy." Poking his head out of the tent, he whistled to get Lobsang's attention. He'd seen their Sherpa swiging from a red and white bottle that smelled uncannily like cat piss. "Lobsang? Got any more of that _maotai_? Get over here and help me. We've got to flush out his wounds."

"_AAAAIIIIIEEEEMOTHERFUCKI'LLKILLYOU, MUSTANG, YOU BASTAAAAAARD!!!"_

The shriek was loud enough to make a _yeti_ pee in its pants.

KASHMIR-XINJIANG, NEAR THE CHINESE BORDER OF TIBET

"I'd kill for a pizza." Tossing a well-sucked wing bone into the fire, the Great Wise Man of Xinjiang burped and folded his arms behind his head. "Think Domino's delivers here?"

Josh Tringham shivered and glared miserably at his companion. For a so-called holy man of 'Earth", the only prayer he'd hear this faker Yao chant, over and over, was oh GOD I'm starving!"What the hell is Domino's?" he asked sullenly, grimacing as his stomach gave a gurgle of warning. Tsampa with bitter tea, burnt flour and rancid yak butter was going through his digestive tract the way Roy Mustang went through an Ishballan village. "Is it like Gluttony's?"

One dark eye sparkled under a tumble of glossy black hair. "Funny you should mention Gluttony…."

Ling Yao Xing, known in the world media as Master Xing, author of the smash best seller "Eternity's Gate: The Quest for Immortality in the Modern World", looked up from his steaming cup of chicken ramen and grinned as he slurped. _"__Nature abhors a hero,"_ he observed. _"For one thing, he violates the law of conservation of energy. For another, how can it be the survival of the fittest when the fittest keeps putting himself in situations where he is most likely to be creamed?"_

The starry eyed pilgrim at his right offered the holy man a hand towel—and a ham sandwich, marveling how much food this lama seemed to require to keep the font of wisdom flowing. "Wow…that's so profound, " the disciple gushed.

"Nope, that's a good search engine," muttered the dirty blonde boy in the back of the cave, a bowl of cold _tsampa_ and a Diet Coke at his elbow. "Not like any of them have ever heard of Soloman Short." He was snapping in the back up battery in His Assholiness' Dell, grateful that they had developed solar rechargers on this side of the Gate. He'd been holed up here for weeks with this nitwit—this alleged sage and wise man who, far as he could figure out, did little but eat, drink, order him around and feign some sort of insanity so the Tibetan government would dismiss him as 'harmless' and 'drunk with Divine nectar" should those pesky officials want to kick him out of the country. A red robe, a _danda_ staff, a mouthful of high-minded babbling and a best-seller was apparently all you needed to set yourself up for a new and profitable life.

Josh Tringham had fallen through the Gateway after the fire at the Alchemy Museum in Central. A rare "Gatestone" carved by the legendary alchemist Hohenheim of Light was on display in the main hall outside the Elric Gallery, right across the hall from the special exhibit, "Mustang: The Man and His Times". Josh had been volunteering at the museum in hopes of digging up some juicy tidbits on the Colonel's rumored affair with the Fullmetal Alchemist. Instead he'd found a rare alchemic stone created by the Colonel that had triggered Hohenheim's stone when they touched (all right, damn it—when he intentionally touched them together) and the next thing he knew a real, live _Roy Mustang_ ran out of the stone—right through its surface—hotly pursued by a real, live _Gluttony._ This Mustang—born on Earth and named Taisa Roy—and this Gluttony—created in Amestris and as dangerous as ever—had trashed the entire museum before a propane explosion in the outdoor food court had blown the monster to bits. He'd told Josh to run for it but the kid hadn't made it out. Last thing he remembered he was clawing at the stone, screaming for the Colonel to come back and save his sorry ass…

…and he'd wound up _here_, on Taisa Roy Mustang's side of the Gateway. The side where Fullmetal and Alphonse were still miraculously alive thanks to the altered DNA inherited by their seemingly-immortal father, Hohenheim. He didn't know who this so-called holy man Ling Yao Xing was, but at least Ling didn't shoot him. He shared his food, his laptop-with-gps and told the kid, "when the student is ready, the Alchemist will appear."

"Yeah," Josh argued, "but you also said, 'if you meet the Alchemist on the road, kill him'."

"Quite so." The dark eyes sparkled as a handful of Pringle's Newfangled Potato Chips was crammed into a grinning mouth.

"So…does that mean, then, that when the student is willing, you're gonna shoot the Fullmetal Alchemist?"

The grin became even more cryptic. _"Only the wisest and the stupidest of men never change_, says Confucius. Now pass me that bean dip…"

CHAPTER 1: "THE FULLMETAL RENT BOY—MESSENGER OF THE _GODS??"_

When two Americans meet in a foreign land, they will go in search of ESPN.

When two Irish meet in a foreign land, they will go in search of a good pint.

When two Frenchmen meet in a foreign land, they will go in search of a fine restaurant.

And when two Greeks meet in a foreign land, they will embrace like brothers—and hunt for the nearest _taverna_. And if they do not find one, they will create one.

Thus, _Thanatopsis_. Dark. Smoky. Drifts of _bouzouki_ music in the alleyway outside, where the Pacific islanders shook their heads at what owners Starvos and Diomedes considered popular music and cranked up their iPods another notch. That is, except for Saturday nights when the _tsiftételi_ dancers would swirl and shimmy around the table to enthusiastic cries of "_opa_!" and "_aman_!"…and the occasional appreciative "too right!" from the odd Aussie who wandered in.

The dark haired man at the bar nodded in distracted appreciation, dug in his wallet for a generous tip, then waved off the dancers when they attempted to make closer acquaintance. He signaled for a refill of a horribly expensive single malt scotch. Diomedes topped off the stranger's glass before thumbing furiously at his disposable lighter, irritated that he couldn't get a good fire-up of his unfiltered _kasetina_.

"_Allow me_." The stranger lifted a gloved hand and _snapped_.

Nothing happened. _"Idiōtēs," _ Diomedes shook his head and turned away. Starvos, however, flapped a serviette over one arm and plunked down a small platter of _mezedakia_: kalamata olives, stuffed grape leaves called _dolmades_, crisp _filo_ triangles stuffed with feta and spinach. "A few nibbles—he can spend to drink well, we can spend to feed well," he reasoned.

He was rewarded with a faint smile that was almost a smirk, as the man pocketed the strangely decorated gloves. "_Arigato." _ The voice was warm and low, the kind of voice that Starvos might not want to hear on the other end of the phone chatting to his wife…

…who had just dropped a tray of pastries and wine and crossed herself. "Μάτια όπως έναν λύκο--αλλά καλός ως γυναίκα!" she whispered, a little too loudly. "Eyes of the wolf—but so fair a face—like a maiden!"

_Not a day over twenty_. Starvos appraised the newcomer with the practiced eye of a man with a daughter whose breasts had a bad habit of wandering innocently into the hands of all the wrong boys….and this fellow had _wrong boy_ stamped all over his clean, angular features.

Wolf Eyes. Golden. Feral. _Predatory_. "Oriana," he snapped at his wife, "get ready for Mass. Take Saba with you."

"Are you insane? It's Saturday night!"

"Then she has plenty of time to wash behind her ears—get going!"

The golden haired youth paced slowly across the dance floor, straight through the _tsiftételi_, veils swirling around him. Black leather. Head to foot—too warm in such humid, tropical weather. A gleam of golden skin between the waistband and the thin tank top that skimmed just above his navel. A glint of silver on his breast. A cross—no, a _caduceus_ of a single serpent, with wings and a crown. The symbols of _Hermes_, messenger of the ancient gods of his motherland. "A beardless youth, immortal, bearing the caduceus…" he murmured, then crossed himself for blasphemy.

Still, it was bad business to be rude to any potential customer, so he wiped off the bar and nodded for the gleaming youth to take a seat.

"_Mezcal._ And gimme the worm."

The dark man didn't glance up. "It's a myth, you know. About the _mezcal _ worm."

The golden eyes shifted. The youth stood very still; only the odd twig of bright hair that poked up above the stranger's forehead seemed to quiver. "What myth?" he asked softly.

"It's not an aphrodisiac. I'm a chemist. I would know." The dark haired man picked idly at his plate, nodding with satisfaction as he licked drops of salty brine off his fingers. "Mezcal worm will no more increase the libido than one of these olives."

One bushy grey eyebrow arched as Starvos busied himself at the register. Why, it was indisputable fact that olives and olive oil could quicken the passion of any man. His eyes darted to the golden youth, who snorted with cheerful malice before gesturing for the salt shaker and a lemon wedge. Sliding off one of his creamy doeskin gloves, the young man drew his hand to his mouth. His tongue feathered leisurely over the curl of his thumb, which was then dusted with salt. "_Lick it,_" he grinned, and lick it he did, slowly and with concentration. "_Slam it_." The mezcal was thrown swiftly back. "_Suck it_. _Mmmmmm…"_ Low, shivery sounds of satisfaction as he sucked noisily on the tangy fruit. "Sucking's the best part, don't you agree? Gets the juices flowing in your mouth, so you're ready to savor the…_worm_."

The dark haired man nodded, not even feigning interest, returning to his scotch. The newcomer laughed silently, before nodding to Starvos. "Bring him the bottle," he commanded, "and some more of those olives he finds more appealing than my company."

The dark haired man did not glance up. Instead, he lifted his left hand, where a thick band of gold winked in the dim light.

"Mmmmm….lucky girl," the youth taunted.

"Lucky _man._" He was no less striking than the wolf eyed boy, Starvos realized, as he set the single malt scotch down before his patron. In his features were expertly blended the clean planes of the Anglo-Saxon and the _sumi_ brushstroke elegance of Japanese beauty. In the flickering candlelight at the bar his skin had the warm color of summer wheat. His dark suit was impeccably tailored, probably from Saville Row. English elegance. Understated. _Devastating_, at least by his wife's standards.

And by the interloper's standards too, it seemed. Grinning a little, he moved to settle to the stool adjacent the handsome Eurasian. "You're alone."

"Obviously."

"That's a shame."

The Eurasian bit down on a savory pastry. "Hardly." The hand flicked up again to display the wedding band.

The feral eyes were persistent. "And he left you alone? Foolish. Very foolish, on a night like this." A lazy gesture to their surroundings. "The music. The dance. And there's a full moon out tonight. Risky to leave your husband to drink alone on a night that would be better spent in a lover's arms."

The man in the fine English suit failed to rise to the bait. "He'll be here next week."

Fine nostrils flared as the younger man savored the aroma of spices and grilled lamb. Snagging a menu, he scanned it for a few moments before tossing it aside. "Don't see what you like?" his quarry jibed. "There's a McDonald's down the street. I'm sure they'd sell you a Mighty Kids Meal this close to closing, even if your parents don't know you're out this late."

"Clever. Very clever." Before Starvos could say anything the younger man flipped an open passport at the innkeeper. "Tell him I can drink whatever I like."

Starvos stared at the document. Surely those dates couldn't _possibly_ be right. "Sir…I think---"

"If you don't think I'm a man full grown…I'll be glad to step into the lavatory and let you see for yourself." His gloved hand slid off the bar to rest precariously close to his groin. "I think you'll be convinced." His eyes returned to the dark haired man. "I think you need convincing. _Lots_ of convincing. Slow…warm…_deep_ convincing. "

"That could take all night."

"That's what I had in mind, Mr…?"

"_Mustang." _A splash of scotch went down, the glass hitting the bar top with a fraction more force than intended. "Not interested, thanks."

"That's a shame. That's a damned shame. Well, the least I can do is help you finish off all these snacks before you trundle off quietly to your chaste little bed back at the hotel. Want some mezcal?"

A smirk from his companion. "It's revolting."

"Funny, that's what people used to tell me about certain…_oral_…pleasures. But my mother used to say 'always try something three times before you say you don't like it." Dipping his finger into Mustang's glass, the unknown youth rubbed the smoky liquor into the web of his thumb and forefinger, curling them together into a tight circle. "I didn't like scotch the first time I tried it." He raised his hand to his mouth and Starvos' eyes grew wide as the young man's tongue began to flick and lap at the wet flesh. "Hmmmmm…if you just keep an open mind…and an open mouth…there's no telling how your tastes can change." Another dappling of scotch and the tongue began to thrust rhythmically, the stranger making low, purring sounds of satisfaction. "So damn good…if you just…mmmm…keep an…open…mind…" Dear god, he was sucking on it now, and the impassive face of Mr. Mustang shifted almost imperceptivity. Starvos could detect the faint sheen of sweat on his customer's brow that hadn't been there when the _tsiftételi _dancers had fluttered their silken veils at him.

"_Stop that._ You look ridiculous."

The bright eyes darted up from the wet furl of flesh. "Just a demonstration. I didn't care for olives either." Mustang had been about to take a bite of a plump Kalamata, but his hand was tugged gently towards his pursuer. This time the tongue _caressed_, darting playfully between Mustang's fingers to lap and tease at the salty fruit that bore…well..…a more than passing resemblance to a man's _parastates_. "They taste delicious, don't they?" The light, velvety baritone dropped to a low whisper. "Bitter…salty… such tender flesh…a taste I'm rather fond of. And you like them too."

"I…like them too." Mustang swallowed hard.

The boy leaned in close. Tossing the olive aside, he curled Mustang's thumb and forefinger into a circle, bent his head…and began sucking it. Mustang yelped in surprise but didn't draw his hand away. The tongue now insinuated itself in and out of the ring for a moment before he pried the thumb up and drew it between his lips, swirling his tongue around and around before plunging it deep, sucking hard, all the while humming softly in time with the wild rhythm pounded out by the _doumbek_ player.

He released the thumb with a _pop!_ , letting it trail wetly over his cheek. "Come dance with me," he murmured.

Mustang stared down at his wet thumb as if it belonged to someone else. "Why should I do that?" he asked softly. "I'm _married_."

The youth just grinned and slid forward on the bar stool, canting his hips forward, baring more of that taut, intriguing belly that was far more deliciously toned that those of the dancers that whirled around the tables. He captured one of Mustang's thighs between his knees and leaned in close, his odd twig of hair brushing against the older man's cheek. "Because, married or not, you want this…just look at yourself." He gave the captured thigh a squeeze. "I'd have thought that old as you are and with all the booze you're knocking back you'd be limp as one of these _dolmades_. I was wrong…sometimes I like being wrong….and _being_ wrong for someone. Someone like _you_, Mr. Mustang." Beneath the black leather trousers the hips arched and shifted, making room no doubt for the swollen cock clearly outlined, doubtlessly eager to be given the same studied attention Mustang's fingers had so recently enjoyed. "Your man," he taunted. "Older or younger?"

A swift gulp of scotch. "Older. _Considerably_."

"And he satisfies a man of your…_needs_?"

Mustang glanced up, eyes intense. "Yes…_oh yes._ As I satisfy _his_."

The youth shrugged. "But it's not enough, the love alone. You want more…you need the heat. The _chase_. You need risk to feel alive. You need to be…_pushed_…to extremes sometimes. Or," his fingers reached out to brush a wayward strand of ebony hair out of Mustang's eyes, "am I reading you wrong?"

Dark eyes lifted to gold eyes. He shook his head slowly.

The hot grip on his thigh was gone. "Let's dance…"

The veiled women shimmying among the patrons were amused—possibly intrigued—as the black clad seducer led his chosen into their midst. One of them giggled and tossed the boy a gossamer veil of gold and scarlet. He bowed gracefully in thanks, then turned to face his partner.

The _tsiftételi_ rhythm slowed to _beledi_, the drummers locking their eyes on the new dancers. The youth stood motionless before Mustang for one measure, then began to sway as he caught the pulse. Agile, he caught the edge of the veil, tossed it towards the ceiling, then spun and swirled it, hips arching, belly rolling. He snaked the veil around his partner and used it to pull the reluctant man closer. "Wh—who _are_ you?" Mustang whispered hoarsely as this golden seducer mounted his thigh, arching, churning with maddening slowness concealed from the crowd by the veil that enshrouded them.

"_I have no name,"_ the boy breathed. _"I'm nobody you know. No one you will ever see again…and I am everything you desire."_ Small, strong hands locked onto his hips, guiding him as they began to move together, The welcomed hardness arched against the youth's quivering belly. "_No one will ever know how hard you are…how wet…how badly you want me down on my knees, my tongue sliding inside, my hands—"_

"God…stop…_please.."_

"—_my hands curling around you, slick with your seed. I don't want to taste anything but your skin, and I'm so hard it's hurting me." _

"My—husband---" Helpless, his hands slid down to cup the small, tight buttocks, caressing them through the sweaty leather.

"_Say 'yes'. Say 'yes'." _A silky mouth was moving against the base of his throat. "_Say 'yes' and you can have it all. You're seeing it in your mind, aren't you? I'm down on my knees for you, spread wide, so tight…so hot…wanting to be filled. I have no name. Take me. Fill me up…you like it hard…dirty and rough tonight. This isn't about love. This is about heat and need and my body clenched so tight around your cock you'll scream his name when you come inside me."_

An abrupt jerk , and the golden youth was lifted off his feet, spun around and pressed hard against the wall, the musty smell of a faded tapestry sharp in his nostrils. The dark haired stranger was the dancer now, his hips rocking and churning as he feasted greedily on the blonde's neck, long fingers pinching his nipples until they stung. "Say it," Mustang hissed through gritted teeth. "_Say it!"_

"_yes…"_

"_Again, damn you!"_

"_YES!"_

The younger man was lowered to the floor again. He took Mustang's hand and they disappeared into the night. Starvos was so shocked he didn't even notice his _kasetina_ had burned down until it scorched his fingers.

Then it occurred to him—the blonde hadn't paid for the mezcal or the olives. "Hey---HEY! Stop, thief! COME BACK HERE!"

In the back of the cab the blonde's hand snaked inside Mustang's jacket and grabbed his wallet.

"And you said I couldn't pass for twenty—that's five thousand yen you owe me, Shithead!" Edward Elric crowed with victory. "That son of a bitch at the bar thought I was an underage rent boy. Beautiful!"

"Take it out in trade, you little harlot," Roy purred. "I'll even let you top after a performance like that…."

Abruptly, the cab pulled over. "What the fuck—Hey! This isn't our hotel!"

The back door was yanked open and Ed was pulled roughly out of Roy's arms. "Goddamn it, take your hands off me! Who are you people?"

A stream of patois was translated roughly by the grinning cab driver. "He says you are under arrest…you stole liquor from the _Thanatopsis_ Taverna. You left without paying. You showed the owner a forged passport…and you solicited that man for acts of prostitution. They say…yes, they will take you away now and since they know you are a boy-whore they will make sure to cane you a few extra strokes since you will probably enjoy it—"

"Wha--? A _boy whore???_" Ed thundered as the police dragged him away. "What the _fuuuuuu---"_

The driver peered over his shoulder at the very astonished man in his back seat. "Sir, I'm sure the police will get your wallet back from the rent boy."

Mustang shook his head and sighed, His burgeoning erection would just have to wait. He dug in his breast pocket for his cell phone. "Hello, Hughes? Allow me to quote the late, great Warren Zevon once again…_'Send lawyers, guns and money—the shit has hit the fan!'_"

…TO BE CONTINUED…..


	2. Chapter 2

YOU AND ME OF THE 10,000 WARS: CHAPTER 2

GEYLANG NEIGHBORHOOD POLICE CENTRE, BEDOK DIVISION

"Remove all jewelry, watches and metal objects, please!"

Okay…_that_ had been problematic. So was the strip search.

And regardless what hot obscenities he'd been whispering in Roy's ear, the _body cavity inspection_ left a _lot_ to be desired.

Since they couldn't figure out how to remove his prosthetics, they simply cuffed him at the wrists and ankles. "You'd better hope I don't have to wipe my ass," Ed growled.

"Maybe one of your new friends will help you," the Lieutenant told him soberly before frog-marching Ed into a public cell. A shove, and he tumbled on his rump at the feet of a score of the most…_dentistry-challenged_…ruffians he'd seen this side of The Devil's Nest.

One green-toothed Prince Charming leaned in for a closer look, picking at an oozing pustule on his chin. "You got a pretty mouth,"

"_You_ don't."

Shortly after regaining consciousness, Edward Elric amended his list of Things One Must Avoid At All Costs:

Never try to bring back a dead person

Never sell your soul to the military

Never attempt human transmutation

Never feed Roy Tex-Mex food without a stiff dose of Beano

"…and if you can't think of something nice to say to a seven foot tall gorilla convicted for performing carnal acts with _chickens_, you just _might_ want to keep your goddamn mouth shut…"

"….so it was your _husband_ you were trying to pick up? Oi, an' I bet yer man didn't bloody know _wank-all_ about bleedin' _Geylang_, right?"

If Ed had any idea how his angry flush made his companion's crotch turn from putty to iron, he'd have hidden his face. "He did. It was my idea. I'm…I just wanted to…y'know…see if I could keep him interested now…"

The odiferous Aussie hooted with laughter. "—now he's yer old ball-and-chain Charlie, right? But you're bonzer. Any bloke would wanna have a go. How tight's yer ringpiece, Eddie? Reckon you could give me ol' feller a proper hug-me-tight?"

Thinking fast—hopefully fast enough—Ed shook his head. "Sorry. He's stretched me out so far I could use my ass as a beer coozy. Thanks anyway, Cobber." _As IF, you smirking son of a bitch—and when the hell are you going to bail me out of this Tupperware party??_

"So….Cobber….what are you in for?"

His cellmate's grin made his sphincter tighten in self defense.

"Six strokes if I'm lucky."

His comrades nodded reverently. "No shit, the guy's an _artist_."

"Best goddamned cane in the whole Far East."

"I'd fuck a frozen chicken right in the veggie aisle of the Bedok Super-H Mart---"

"—Cobber, you _did_ fuck a frozen chicken in the veggie aisle of the Bedok Super H Mart…"

"Just for a touch, sweet Eddie. Just a lick o' that cane. Lemme tell you, they strip you down…"

"---er,..Cobber?"

"—an then they pad yer kidneys—just for safety, right? An' they bend you double over this frame and lash your wrists…"

"—if it's all the same to you, I think I can do without the charts and graphs…"

"So your bum's up in the air, sweet as candy…and he comes in, an' he's already breathin' hard…and _you're_ Johnnie's so hard you could drive nails with it…"

"---can I get a Verizon signal this far underground? Uh…guard? Ah….I think I need to see if my husband's made bail yet---"

"Oh—and Eddie, this is the _best_ part---he makes these kinda…_gruntin'_ noises…like he's having it off each time that bamboo makes a cut on your bum cheeks…"

"_GODDAMNIT—WHERE THE FUCK IS MY LAWYER???"_

ON A SUBURBAN STREET ON THE OUTSKIRTS OF LOS ANGELES---

"Mays? Honey?" A gentle hand shook his shoulder. "_It's the Bat Phone_."

Mayland Alexander Hughes bolted upright out of a sound sleep. "Oh _fuck_, what now??"

"It's Ed. He says he's only allowed one phone call—"

_One phone call. That could only mean_---"ED! Whatever you do, don't confess to _anything_. And stay out of the showers. I'm coming to get you. How much is your bail this time?"

"Bail my ass!" Ed bellowed from the other side of the world. "They're talking about the number of _strokes_." Silence. "Hughes! Are you there?"

Silence. "Edward," he finally sighed, "what the _hell_ are you doing in _Singapore_?"

"Damn. _Damn_ him. _Double_ goddamn him. 'What the hell are you doing in Singapore?', I ask. The little bastard tells me, 'The standard response is _don't ask, don't tell_'. " He was so furious that he waved away the mini bottle of exclusive Maker's Mark whiskey offered by the lovely air hostess. Pissed as he was, he'd have a hard time appreciating even Old Crow at the moment. And _then_, to put the cherry on the top of the shit pile, I'll bet Roy's going through all sorts of hell trying to get Ed out…goddamn it, what the hell did he _do_ ?"

He jabbed at the Skyphone. The roaming charges were going to cost him a fortune. Correction: they were going to cost Ed a fortune. Fuck if he was going to pay.

"Hello, Al---ahhh _shit!_ Voicemail!" That's right—Al was probably en route from Munich. He'd made one of those mysterious trips up to visit The Big Kahuna, as Teddy called it—as close to hallowed grounds for the Elrics on this side as there could be—the site of the Thule Society's terrible attempt to open the way to 'Shamballa". The ruins now belonged to the Elric foundation, ruins soaked in the blood of Hohenheim…and Alfons Heiderich.

How the hell had he gotten into this mess, anyway?

_Three motherfucking cups of sake. Three cups. Three cups, three sips each…and now I couldn't walk away from this freak show if I tried…_

A week after enrolling in The University of California at Berkeley he met a pretty brown haired girl playing a Pink Floyd song on a 12 string guitar out on the commons just before dinner. He chimed in. She smiled at him. They harmonized.

They shared bad cafeteria food, a bottle of Boone's Farm apple wine, hours of fantastic conversation and seriously smoldering sex, in that order. Before the month was out, they'd moved in with another classmate into the upstairs of an old Victorian house owned by a drag queen named Garfiel, who ran a Merle Norman cosmetic shop. In exchange for painting, fixing-upping and occasional help behind the counter, they got a cut in rent, and the free services of an in-house Dear Abby-cum-Auntie with a heart of gold and a bigger collection of slingbacks and high heels than Teddy would own in the whole of her life.

On October 3rd, they hauled a bruised and bleeding freshman named Mustang out of an alley where he was being pummeled senseless and about to be sodomized with the business end of an old wine bottle, courtesy of some of the more spirited upper-class frat boys—the kind that would grow up to be stock brokers, inside traders and oxycontin eaters. While the school infirmary staff taped up his cracked ribs and Mays gave a surprisingly articulate statement to the campus cops—including Teddy's camera and the damning photo's she's snapped of the assault---Teddy had rung up Garfiel, and the old sweetie had suggested they bring Mustang home. Their previous roomie had been busted for drunk driving and it certainly wouldn't hurt to give a home "to another poor faggot like me, mercy sakes!".

First, Roy became his friend.

Then, Roy became his lover. Teddy was not adverse to it—in fact, she was downright turned on and joined them in endless romps and entanglements. Mustang's mother, Hikari, had voiced concerns that before her only son fully embraced the homosexual lifestyle he should at least find out what he might be missing. Mustang and Teddy came to ….an _agreement_. And while it was certainly fun and educational—it was brief. It ended with mutual affection, a deepening of trust—and a letter to Mama-San from Teddy assuring her that her son was absolutely certain of his sexual orientation.

And in the spring…Teddy set Taisa Roy Mustang up with her much-loved uncle and mentor—a small, richly profane little man named Edward Elric. Mama-San Hikari had hoped for an Elric bride for her son. Instead, she got the Tin Man. Thankfully, she learned to love him like a son and informed her son that if he and Edward ever chose to celebrate the _san-san-kudo_---the Shinto rite of binding and adoption---she would be most pleased.

Ed was an atheist. Mustang respected his mother's faith, but did not believe either. "Besides, if Ed and I are going to have a ceremony, we might as well hold out for legal marriage."

However, Hikari countered with another offer. A _san-san-kudo_ between herself and Edward, so that the gods would know she loved him and regarded him as her son.

Surprisingly, Ed agreed. And to Mays' surprise, she suggested that he, Taisa and Teddy also perform the rite. "My Taisa may be an only child—but you and Teddy-chan have proven he was not born without siblings."

So right after graduation, they flew to spend a month in London at the home of Taisa's Uncle Simon, the youngest brother of Taisa's natural father, an ex RAF bush pilot named William "Roy" Rogers, aka, "Colonel Mustang", in honor of the ancient Mustang P-38 that eventually lit up the Eastern skies with a fireball you could see halfway to Tokyo. Hikari and Uncle Simon—who reminded him of that Captain Picard guy once he started watching Next Gen—greeted them warmly and the simple ceremony was held in the garden of a nearby Shinto Temple. Teddy wore a stunning kimono. Taisa wore his formal hakima and black kimono with the five Mon crests he had been forbidden to wear in Japan, where his grandfather had disowned Hikari. Hughes? Wore his best high top sneakers and a clean Queen t-shirt.

Simple, really. Three sips each from three cups of sake, shared between three best friends, binding them as family before the gods Mays didn't believe in…

And yet….ever since…he'd been an adopted _Elric_ too. It was more than just a job for which he was paid a ridiculously generous salary. He had Gracia. He had Elycia. He had newborn Teddy-Grace, born just days before Teddy had Izumi Jean.

And, goddamnit..he had Edward in the bargain. For better or worse…

Cursing and waving away the air hostess, he punched another number. "Hello, Roy? Goddamn it!" Voicemail _again_. He left a curt message, then thumbed another number.

"'_Hughes???"_

"Teddy! Shit! Do you know how hard it is to hunt someone down in this goddamned family? Listen—"

"'_Allo?_ Mays! _Mon frere!_ It's good to hear from you! Teddy---"  
Shit. She'd handed the phone to The Cajun. Jean Havoc, perpetual loser and all around decent son of a bitch who couldn't for the life of him score a date with a good-hearted woman in Amestris, had hit the mother-fuckin' jackpot after being born on earth as a Louisiana Cajun and son of a wild-assed Cajun faith healer that talked to spiders and could curse the balls off a Brahma bull, winding up with the daughter of _Alphonse freakin' Elric_. Not only that, Tricia—Teddy to all who loved her and Ms. Elric to all who needed a righteous ass kicking—was none other Mama Tricia of Amestris, returned to be close to her sons. After that hideous mind-fuck of an encounter with Envy a few months ago , they'd entrusted their daughter to _Grandmere_ Jeanne-Marie—currently serving _pain perdu, café au lait_ and voudoun incantations out of her café in Charleston—while he and Teddy took time to heal and regroup…and hump like bunnies…in the murky depths of Bayou Cocodrie, where the mosquitos had been known to carry off small livestock and Teddy had taken to toting around a Louisville Slugger bat since her shoe wasn't sufficient to squash the Buick-sized cockroaches that occasionally crawled up the tub drain.

"Havoc! Listen, I can't find Al. Can't get Mustang. Need to talk to Teddy—pronto."

There was a pause. "Anybody dead?"

"Er, no, but—"

"Anybody _dyin'_?"

"What? No! But you gotta—"

"Anybody in jail?"

Mays was getting pissed now. "Yeah, goddamn it! Ed has---"

There was a low chuckle. "Oncle Edouard in trouble again, non?"

"_Oui_---and I need to tell---"

"—_I'll_ find Papa Alphonse. _You_—where are you anyway?"

"About 40,000 feet above the Pacific Ocean with a suitcase full of unmarked bills, fake passports and a carry permit."

"Then you've got everything in good hands, mon ami. Soon as Teddy's free, she call you."

"_HER GODDAMN UNCLE IS IN JAIL_," Mays hissed into the Skyphone. ""What the fuck is she doing that so friggin' important that she can't talk to me _right now?_"

From the other end of the phone came the roar of a generous fistful of buckshot blasting through the tin roof of a backwater juke joint. "Havoc? Havoc? _REMY??!!?? What the hell is going on??"_

The phone crackled and there was a low, familiar chuckle that sounded eerily like that of Alphonse Elric, cast in a softer key. "Hughes? Call you back. I'm over at Le Mon Cul Rouge, giving some of these rather…_rough-hewn_ gentlemen….a few lessons in the pleasures of Asian Fusion cuisine."

""_WHAT???"_

The cell phone crackled again. "She's force feedin' the Gautreaux brothers rattlesnake sushi—with the business end of a shotgun to encourage them not to dip it rice side down into the shoyu. Call you later, mon frere—au revoir!"

**CLICK**

"Sir," the hostess whispered softly, "You're going to have to pay for that."

Mays glared down at the dangling cords in his lap. He'd ripped the Skyphone right out of the seat connector thingamajig. "Fine," he sighed, remembering not to take out his wrath on the innocent. "Might as well add a Scotch on the rocks to the tab as well…it's still thirteen hours to Singapore…"  
...TO BE CONTINUED....


	3. Chapter 3

YOU+ME OF THE 10K WARS

Chapter 3: Hand Jive

RECEPTION DESK, GEYLANG NEIGHBORHOOD POLICE CENTER, SINGAPORE

You could set your watch by the black haired man in Reception. With clockwork regularity he marked each shift change with an approach to the INFORMATION window, repeating the identical request in a progressively ragged and weary voice.

"Please—I want to see my husband, Edward Elric—"

_"No homosexual marriage in this country. If you are not his immediate family or legal counsel, you will have to wait until he has spoken with his counsel. Next!"_

"Excuse me—my husband Edward is in your custody. If I could just-"

_"No homosexual marriage in this country. If you are not his—"_

"I need to see Edward Elric. He's my husband. We were married in the United States-"

_"Sorry—"_

"I must see-"

_"No homosexual marriage in this country. If you are—"_

_ "—_you have to understand—"

_"-not his immediate family or—"_

"Listen, what do I have to do to see if he's-"

"-_legal counsel, you will have to—"_

"—all right? _Please_, could you tell him I'm here? Tell him-"

_"-wait until he has spoken with his counsel."_

"-tell him I won't leave. Can you do that at least?"

_"NEXT!"_

He'd paid the owners of the taverna, plus a generous tip for their 'inconvience' to the tune of nearly 200.00 USD—more than enough for skipping out on the bill. Well, _Ed's_ bill. Roy had paid up and even left a tip for his _dolmades_ and olives and single malt scotch. Ed had knocked back a couple of straight tequila shots and a few of Mustang's snacks. He'd repeatedly told the police that the debt had been settled to the owner's satisfaction. "Starvos and Diomedes have no issue with Mr. Elric. The bill's paid up. They aren't going to press charges-"

_"-wait until he has spoken with his counsel."_

"All right, _goddamnit_. I'll wait. I'll wait until hell freezes over. I'm not leaving until he leaves with me."

"_NEXT!"_

Twenty-four hours after the arrest Roy's iPhone chirped to announce an incoming text and he snatched it out of his pocket, nearly dropping it on the freshly mopped floor. _Hughes_. About damn time.

**LAYOVER IN HONOLULU LV IN MORNING. U OK?**

**LIFE SUX CANT SEE ED HURRY DAMNIT**

**OK**

He thumbed a text to Alphonse….

**WHR U?**

**I AM IN MUNICH TRYING FOR FLT TO SINGAPORE HAVE YOU SEEN BRO?** Al was so _anal_ about text abbreviations.

**NOT SEEN AM WORRIED**

**DON'T BE ED WILL BE FINE. TRICIA & HAVOC EN ROUTE. BE THERE BEFORE HUGHES. DIRECT FLT FROM NORLEANS**

So Al had called the Cavalry yet again for his worrisome older brother. Damn it. Roy might have to stand in line to chew Ed out for going a little too far in his little pick-me-up-take-me-home-and-fuck-me-till-my-brains-squirt-out-my-ears game, enticing as it had been. Even Al's patience had been strained by his brother's shenanigans. _And_, Roy grinned faintly to himself, _good a fighter as Ed is, I've never seen him whip his kid brother's ass—not once in all these years. Ed may prefer a police-sanctioned caning to facing a pissed off Alphonse…_

He looked like hell. His hotel was right down the block, but he hadn't wanted to risk leaving the precinct in the event that he'd miss a chance to speak to Ed. His suit was rumpled from sleeping in it, upright in one of those horribly uncomfortable ass traps that passed for seating in the reception area. There were no working vending machines and the only coffee pot was, if his nose detected correctly, on the other side of the sliding glass window. He had a roll of glucose tablets in his pocket. That, and sips from the water fountain, would have to suffice, because he was damned if he was going out, not even for a minute. He didn't even have a Tylenol to soothe the pounding in his head from exhaustion, low blood sugar and flat out _rage_.

_I've made things right. Give him back, you sons of bitches! Hughes, what the hell is taking so long?_

By the second morning one of the receptionists took pity on him and brought him an instant beef bowl, a stack of magazines and a cup of coffee. He almost kissed her. Instead he flashed one of his Roy Mustang Smiles that made the otherwise stern faced young officer rather flushed and giddy.

_Bet they're laughing their asses off._ He felt ridiculous but he couldn't stop glaring at his watch every few minutes while thumbing through the magazines, which thankfully weren't in Malay. Nothing much of interest—more adverts than substance, really—until a book review made him sit up straight. "Ling Yao Xing's 'Gateway To Eternity'—Hoax or Holy Man?'

Ling…_Yao_. "That's….now where the hell have I heard that name?" Roy muttered to himself as he scanned the review. A Chinese-born student at the University of Central Florida in Orlando taking a Culinary Arts degree gets expelled for stealing nearly half a kilo of black truffles out of his advisor's office. Unable to afford the airfare back to Beijing, he was camping out in a cave near Disney World when he underwent a dramatic spiritual transformation. "It was as if the very rocks came alive and began humming, becoming cloudy and then translucent." Yao described how a "Light Being from between the worlds" emerged from the depths of the cave and proclaimed himself to be Yao's spiritual guide. _'Long before you were born, you walked in other worlds and we were as one—I dwelt within your heart and gave you illumination and strength and you became an ageless spiritual warrior and a great king who brought much joy to his people._" After days of fasting, Yao allowed the Light Being to 'embrace my spirit, upon which all things became clear'. Yao recorded that from the moment of the 'embrace' his fortunes changed radically. "I went from a penniless student to—"

Before he could read further the door to the lobby swung wide and a rumpled, brown-haired woman dove at him, hugging him fiercely. "_Taisa!"_ She kissed him swiftly on the mouth. Then she grabbed his thumb and jabbed him with a lancet.

"Shit!"

She squeezed a drop of his blood onto the business end of a test strip already loaded in a glucometer. Ten seconds after it beeped she shoved the meter in his face with a growl. "How the _hell_ can I trust you to take care of Edo if you won't take care of yourself? Look at this—just _look_ at it!"

"Thanks for getting here so fast. Where's Havoc?"

"Paying the driver—and don't change the subject. Sixty, Taisa—_sixty_. What have you been doing—living off your glucose stash?"

"Uhhh, well—"

"Goddamn it, don't do that! All we need is Edo in jail and you flat on your back in a Singapore hospital. Hang on—" She stuck her head out the door. "Remy? You changed some money, right? Go find a café and—no, wait, we passed a Cheers Mart on Haig Road. Run get some chicken or pork buns—the steamed ones. Ask for _baozi_. And some juice—thanks, _Cher_!"

She would have laid into him again if she hadn't seen the weariness in his eyes. "I'm sorry. Shouldn't have jumped on you with both feet like that." Her hand gently smoothed his hair back from his forehead. "You just look so miserable, and I know you don't take care of yourself when you get like this." Her arm slid around his back and his head dropped to her shoulder. "Can't let anything happen to you," she whispered into his hair. "It would kill Edo. Kill the rest of us, too."

Mustang sighed and closed his eyes. His head felt muzzy and he was nauseated. She was right, of course. Mostly Teddy took after Alphonse in good-natured temperament—but whenever he was neglecting his heath she turned pure Rockbell. Her mother Winry never hesitated to raise hell with him one minute and stuff him with dinner the next—and worse, she'd threaten to write his mother Hikari if he didn't 'straighten up and fly right'.

But, as his mother had quickly pointed out, they wouldn't give him hell if they didn't genuinely love him—a love he sincerely returned. He might not have been demonstrative. He might have said little about it, but just knowing that Teddy and Havoc were here with Maes and Alphonse on the way took a huge burden of stress off his shoulders.

"I haven't seen him, no," he answered before she could ask. "They keep saying I'm not legally his husband, so I have no right to see him until after he's spoken with council. Not his husband. Not his family," he added resentfully.

"And they're right—from their point of view. However," she stood up and smoothed her denim travel skirt, "I _am_. Let me see what I can do."

She tapped on the glass and bowed to the receptionist and holding out her passport. They exchanged a few words and then a door to the side buzzed loudly as it was unlocked. Teddy turned and offered a thumbs-up to Mustang.

"Tell him I won't leave until they let him go."

She smiled. "As if you would." She ducked inside and the door banged shut behind her.

He was dreaming of the boy who became his man…

The album was sent from London but the first photographs had been pasted in half a world away in Tokyo. It was one of Ed's cherished possessions, one he kept locked safely in the glass-fronted bookcase in his study. It was a photograph of a smiling woman in a traditional kimono standing proudly before a fluttering carp banner, holding up a laughing, pale-skinned child with an origami war helmet on his head. _Boy's Day, 1959_. Other photos showed the boy being blessed by a Buddhist priest, posing beside a statue of the boy hero Kintaro and greedily shoving a _mochi_ cake in his mouth, sweet red bean paste smeared on his chin. The boy who had once been a general feared for his alchemic prowess and honored for his bravery. A general who had been Ed's lover. A general Ed had waited a lifetime to find again on Earth. A boy born in Japan on the day the general died in Brigg's mountain in the Earth year 1957*. A boy whose very name had made Ed's pulse race madly with hope and fear as soon has Alphonse had told him.

_"Ed….Trisha and Hughes have a new roommate. His name is Taisa…Taisa Roy Mustang…"_

In his dream, Ed was searching frantically through the streets of Tokyo, calling for the boy…and suddenly the Gateway opened before him. _"No….Taisa…get back…"_

The boy turned and smiled. "I can't stay forever like you. Not without the Stone."

"No….nooooooo….don't go!" He moaned, shivering in his bunk.

It had been 48 hours. Not the worst prison he'd been held in. And not the flimsiest charge to be filed against him. Compared to Liore , this was nothing. At least there was no nutjob priest with a basement full of chimeras waiting to teethe on his automail. "Still gonna get an ass-whippin'." He glanced around at the grey cinderblock walls. The odor was appalling—sweat, vomit, piss and antiseptic and the stench of fear. All that crap that fat Aussie bastard had told him about S&M freaks wanting to get caned was a load of horseshit. He'd been brought in to the doctor that morning for a cursory exam that brought the reality of caning into unpleasantly sharp focus.

The doctor had been professional, impassive and frank. He showed some curiosity about Ed's prosthetic limbs, but only in terms of the difficulty in finding humane restraint methods that would be effective with automail. By the time he was escorted back to his cell he noted a definite churning in his guts. _Hughes, _he swore mentally, _if you don't get me out of here before they beat my ass for prostitution, I'm going to have you disbarred. _ He gritted his teeth so hard his jaw popped._ Disbarred—and…and…banned from Chuck E. Cheese for the rest of your natural life. No more Whack-a-Mole with Elycia. _ It was cruel…but he'd manage it. _I can tell them he lets his wife peg him with a strap-on…but I'm not supposed to know that little tidbit, heh heh heh._ Alphonse may have followed a strict ethical code for the board of the Elric Foundation… in Ed's mind it never hurt to have a bit of ….leverage…with the Hired Guns.

Teddy Elric closed the door behind her, leaned against it, a tell-tale wheeze beginning somewhere high and tight in her chest. Havoc glanced up but didn't move. Mustang head rested heavily on his shoulder although at the sound of the door Mustang bolted upright and was half-way across the room before Teddy held up a cautioning hand.

"Calm down. He's all right. And he's worried sick about _you._"

"But—"

"But _nothing_. I'll tell you everything—if you do as Ed says."

Roy clenched his teeth, furious at everyone and no-one, still sick and dizzy. Teddy realized that getting through to him in this condition would require some Cajun intervention. "Remy, did he eat?"

"Not near enough, _ma petite_."

Teddy bit her lip. This was exactly the kind of shit that Ed and Roy were famous for—neglecting themselves while obsessing over each other. She clasped her friend's hands tightly. "I'll tell you—and then Ed wants you to go back to the hotel with Remy. Get a shower, get a good meal and a nap. I'm staying here to wait for Hughes—"

"_The hell you are!"_ Roy barked back angrily. "Listen, you don't know how rough this place is! Even for a man—"

"_They think I'm Ed's mother!"_ she hissed back. "Do you honestly thing these people are going to let a prisoner's _mom_ be harassed? No—they were fine. And Ed's fine—well, he's intact and he's keeping his mouth shut and staying out of trouble—"

"—for once," Havoc sighed with relief. "May the saints be praised—"

"—and the detective will let me wait in the canteen until Hughes gets here—then we can see about bailing him out of here. The Greek guys have dropped the charges and once we have proof of your marriage—"

"—'_no homosexual marriage in Singapore,_'" Roy parroted bitterly. "They keep telling me—"

"Well, you're foreign visitors—and it _does_ count in parts of the US where you both have citizenship. And far as I know, there's nothing on the books about it being illegal to accept money for sex in a marriage." She winked at Havoc. "Good as you are, I'll have to take out a mortgage on the beach house . Worth it, though."

A vein on Roy's forehead began to pulse ominously. "Cut the crap. Tell me what the fuck is going on."

Teddy nodded to her husband. "Cher? Could you run get me a Coke and a couple of aspirins?"

"_D'accord_. And some chocolate—for both of you." Rising he, laid a comforting hand on Roy's shoulder. "Taisa, you two talk—and then let's get some food into you and a few hours sleep, hnn? So your husband won't worry."

Settling down side by side, Teddy curled her fingers around Roy's and then kissed the fingers of her other hand and laid them against his wrist. "From Edo. No public display of affection. If they didn't think I was Ed's mom and you were my son in law I'd be censured for getting as close as we are now. It's a cultural taboo that has to be respected—and that's what got you two into such deep shit. Now," she dug into her bag for her asthma inhaler, took a deep puff and then sighed. "Let me tell you what kind of trouble Edo is in…."

"I'll send your clothes out to the cleaner," Havoc called through the open bathroom door, stooping to gather up the rumpled evening wear that might have looked elegant a few days ago but now smelled of Unwashed Mustang. The _socks_ in particular were pretty dreadful. The waiting area had less than efficient air conditioning , Roy had been sweating heavily on the dance floor when Ed was dry humping him, and the air at the police station had reeked of…well, _prison smells_. Havoc was well acquainted with that stench, having had to bail his father Luc out of the drunk tank more than a few times in the last years of the old man's life.

"Toss the shorts and socks—hell, the shirt's not worth saving either."

It was hand tailored in London, straight from Turnbull and Asser. It cost more than Havoc had made in a week in his younger days. Shaking his head, he ran a sink full of cold water and pulled a travel packet of Woolite out of Teddy's bag. If it was good enough for her bras and panties, he reasoned, it wouldn't do any harm to wool socks and silk boxers either. No sense being wasteful. "I'll wash them here," Havoc called back over his shoulder. "Might need them later."

A dripping head popped out from behind the shower curtain. "God…that made me sound like some sort of…I don't know…_yakuza_, right?"

Havoc grinned. "Or a TV evangelist, maybe?"

"Right then. Ignore me, and thank you. I'll get Teddy some more laundry soap."

"Don't worry about it. Did you get enough to eat?" The Room Service tray was so clean the plates looked polished. The men had greedily wolfed down their cheeseburgers and fries and demolished nearly a half gallon of strawberry ice cream with hot fudge sauce—Mustang's idea of comfort food since college.

"Yeah. Look, if you don't mind…I need a few minutes to myself, okay?"

Involuntarily, Havoc's eyes darted down.

The shower curtain was tented out somewhere in the approximate vicinity of Mustang's crotch. His eyes trailed back up. He grinned. Roy colored slightly but looked proud. "All the time you need, mon frere," Havoc nodded, snapping off a salute. "I'll just take this stuff downstairs to the cleaners. See you in a bit."

For half of a split second—oh, no longer, mind you—Mustang considered asking his in-law for a helping hand. Havoc wouldn't have minded—wouldn't even have asked for reciprocation. Havoc was like that. In this life, on this side of the Gate, Havoc's philosophy tended to be that whatever he could do to help pull the broken back together and heal the sprit was fine with him. _Besides_, Roy grinned inwardly, _he'd have told Teddy and she'd have really gotten off on the idea and she'd probably haul him back to their room and fuck him into a coma. Who says there's no such thing as equivalent exchange?_

Leaning back against the slick tile wall he closed his eyes and closed his fist. Tight…so tight, like his husband. Goddamn it…even if Havoc had offered a helping hand it wasn't what his body was demanding. Over a lifetime he'd sampled his share of pleasures in this word—some of those carnal adventures with Maes back in college had actually landed him in the police report when the campus cups had raided their apartment and found Roy getting jack-hammered by ten solid inches of prime American beef and screaming in Japanese—_iku!Ikuuuuuu! _Roy had come so hard the investigating officer had to wipe his mirrored sunglasses and the front of his shirt.

That had been fun, damn it…but Ed had ruined him for any other man. _Why the hell IS that?_ he wondered, squirting a generous handful of the hotel's shampoo into his hand as lube. _If you want to get technical…I suppose Al is the handsomer man. He's got a great body and that face…those eyes…_ But he had never _wanted_ Alphonse, not even in a fleeting fantasy.

_"…_I have no name_,"_ Ed had whispered hotly in his ear. "I'm nobody you know. No one you will ever see again…and I am everything you desire."

Taisa wanted to pound away mercilessly, anything to dissolve at least some of this terrible pent-up hunger since Ed had teased him without mercy in the taverna two days ago. But…no…_no._ _You're here…with me….we've just left Thanatopsis after you danced for me…sweat shimmering on your belly and your cock straining against sweaty leather…sweat on your cheeks…tang of sweat and salt and lust on your skin…_

His hand tightened. "…I'm down on my knees for you, spread wide, so tight…"

Your hair is plastered to your shoulders. You bend for me, one foot up on the rim of the tub…god, those cheeks. High and tight and flushed from the heat of the water pounding against your back…a rivulet trickles down that smooth cleft, and when you spread yourself for me I stare in fascination as your opening begins to twitch, teased by the tiny stream that licks at you…I lean in and catch the droplets with my tongue…"Fuuuuuck….ohh, Fuck yeah!"

"I have no name. Take me. Fill me up…you like it hard…dirty and rough tonight. This isn't about love. This is about heat and need and my body clenched so tight around your cock you'll scream your lover's name when you come inside me.."

The tip of his finger slid under the velvety foreskin. _Your tongue…yes…just like that..uuhhhuhhhhh. That's it…slip your tongue inside, under my skin…taste those first bitter drops…you make me this hard, Edowado…I want your tongue in my slit—flick it…suck it good, you bastard…ohhh…GOD yes…_

The only name he cried was Ed's. He had molded his heart to fit the man he'd vowed to spend his life with. That little sex game—the role-playing in the taverna that lead to all this bullshit, led to his man being socked away for lewd behavior…that was _nothing_ compared to the heat between them

Goddamn…it was too fucking much.

Pressing himself into the corner of the shower stall he ravaged his own fists. Thighs spread, knees shaking, two hands clenching his cock, wishing to god he had a third hand to stroke his opening—imagined Ed's clever fingers dripping with lube, corkscrewing and strumming against that place that made the color bleed out of his vision.

"No one will ever know how hard you are…how wet…" Ed's voice was soft. _Hot_….hypnotic. "How badly you want me down on my knees, my tongue sliding inside you, my hands—"

_Ed…feel me…right now. I'm with you in the dark…in that cell…wherever you are…you're so hard…you're gonna come with me…so…goddamned…tiiiightttttt_

_ker-BLAM!_

The door swung open. _"ROY! How goes it?"_

Hughes never knew what hit him…..

…TO BE CONTINUED…


End file.
